


A Glimmer of Hope

by austenfan1990



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4690778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austenfan1990/pseuds/austenfan1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly a year into his and Jonathan Strange's time in the Darkness, Gilbert Norrell is rudely awoken one night and is drawn into the most unexpected of situations and rewarded by an equally unexpected accolade for his trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Glimmer of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into _Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell_ fanfiction (and I haven't written for an age so this may have affected the quality of this somewhat)! This is more based on the television series rather than the book (which I still have not, in all honesty, fully read in its entirety) so please do forgive my glaring errors, especially regarding magic, along with the possibility of the aforementioned Mr Strange and Mr Norrell being totally out of character here. 
> 
> And naturally, Jonathan Strange and Gilbert Norrell are definitely not mine and belong to the combined geniuses of Susanna Clarke, Bertie Carvel and Eddie Marsan.

Gilbert Norrell was jolted rudely awake by the most unpleasant of sounds. For a moment, he could not quite make out what was going on but by degrees, he realised that the noise was coming from Mr Strange’s room. He attempted to block out the din by covering his ears with his pillow but when he heard china being smashed – _his_ china and one of the commodities not commonly found in Faerie – he got out of bed and lighting a candle, banged upon Mr Strange’s door.

‘Mr Strange, what on earth has taken hold of you?’ he cried through the door. ‘I understand you may be in a violent temper but this does not merit the destruction of china. Especially when it is _my_ china that you appear to be throwing about in so nonchalant a fashion.’

Almost immediately, the door was flung wide open. He was half expecting to have an object hurled in his direction – this would not be the first time Mr Strange’s temper would get the better of him and make him treat his former mentor like a dartboard – but instead, he was astonished at the sight of the man standing in the doorway.

The last time he had seen Strange was not two days before and then he had been perfectly composed and not in the least bit agitated. When he had not come down for breakfast or any of the meals the following day, Norrell had assumed that the man had entered one of his odd moods where he would take no sustenance until he had solved whatever had happened to vex or puzzle him. Out of experience, he had left him alone and was in fact a little relieved at the unexpected solitude this afforded him. He enjoyed Mr Strange’s company but there were times when he much preferred to be alone in his research.

Now there were dark circles about Strange’s eyes, his face was gaunt and pale and his hair was wild and in disarray. In short, his entire appearance and manner conveyed that of a man in great distress.

‘It is my wife,’ groaned Strange, by way of explanation. ‘She appears to have been in agony these past two days and for the love of Heaven, I cannot make out why.’

Norrell raised his eyebrows at this for it was known by everyone that Strange had never been a religious man but made no comment. He stepped inside, winced a little at the shards of china strewn about the floor (it was a good thing perhaps that due to the lack of strong light in the room he did not see the pile of books thrown indiscriminately into the corner), and saw the silver basin of water atop Strange’s desk and which the man had evidently been poring over with much anxiety.

‘You permit me, Mr Strange?’

He nodded and Mr Norrell peered into the basin.

He was accustomed to visions being clear and steady so it was disconcerting to see such confusion before him. The vision which came out of it appeared to be all disarranged and there was a great deal of movement which was making him feel quite dizzy. What he could make out very clearly was the sound of someone crying out in pain – presumably Mrs Strange – but even then her cries were intermittent and indistinct and although he was no husband, he began to understand the cause of and sympathise with Mr Strange’s distress.

‘There is something interfering with the spell, Mr Strange,’ he said, stepping away from the basin with no little sense of relief. ‘That is the only explanation I have to offer.’

‘But how? And why?’ asked Strange in his usual quick-fire manner. ‘This has never occurred before. Has it something to do with the fact that we are in Faerie and she is in England? But I have done this a great many times –’

‘Mr Strange, how often have I told you that you should refrain from summoning these visions unless it is truly necessary?’ sighed Norrell, watching him pace around the room. ‘There can be no good in reminding yourself of what cannot be when what we _should_ be doing is to discover a way of breaking this curse –’

However Strange was not listening and Norrell had no choice but to let him go on with his hypotheses which ranged from maladies caused by Mrs Strange’s time in Faerie to the dreadful possibility that his wife was dying and that the disturbance affecting the visions was a result of her soul separating from her body.

‘Really, Mr Strange,’ said Mr Norrell impatiently at the latter idea and more out of exasperation than a desire to assuage the other man’s fears. ‘This is most morbid and moreover, highly improbable. I pray you will not give into such terrible thoughts.’

There finally came a point when Mr Norrell was dearly missing his bed and inwardly cursing his decision to go up to Mr Strange’s room when they both heard it.

The effect of it was so profound that it even struck Mr Strange dumb, forcing him to stop mid-sentence. It was piercingly loud as it rang out from the depths of the basin, almost as if they were present in the very room where it was issuing forth.

But whereas the source of Arabella’s pain was hazily unclear, this was almost brutal in its clarity.

It was the sound of a newborn crying.

Slowly they turned towards the basin, their expressions almost comical in their contrast. Norrell appeared to be blushing furiously and it was plain that he wanted to be anywhere but this very spot he had found himself in. Strange was harder to read for his emotions were like quicksilver upon his face; they went from anguish to astonishment and finally settled on a sort of dreamy disbelief.

At length, Strange asked slowly and with unusual tentativeness, ‘Mr Norrell, please correct me if I am wrong…but was that the cry of a baby we just heard?’

Norrell cleared his throat, discomfiture written unmistakably upon his face. ‘I am afraid I have very little experience with babies, Mr Strange.’

‘Pardon me, sir, but it was not your experience with babies after which I was enquiring. Was that or was that not the sound of one?’

‘I suppose – well – yes, I would think it sounds very much like a baby, Mr Strange.’

All this while, Norrell had had his gaze firmly rooted to the floor. Upon agreeing with the other man, he looked up and was surprised to see the expression on Strange’s face. He had anticipated a sense of anguish, or anxiety or even doubt – this was not to say he doubted Mrs Strange’s fidelity but it was admittedly a little odd to be bearing children when Mr Strange had been in the Darkness for nearly a year – but certainly not this unabashed, almost indecent joy.

He appeared to be a man transformed, his eyes were shining with great emotion and the colour had returned to his countenance. Had he not been present in the room, Norrell had the impression that there would have been another round of china being smashed, judging by how Mr Strange was now moving haphazardly about the room.

‘Oh, my dearest Bell,’ he cried. ‘So this is why you were in such agonies…it was all because of this. A child! If only I could be there with you… But can it truly be?’

Strange was now feverishly counting on his fingers, murmuring calculations under his breath. 'Arabella was taken away here...and then it was two and a half...then this blasted Darkness came and we have been here for nine months. Yes, that comes up to nine months precisely for the both of us!' he declared excitedly, proudly holding up nine fingers as if he thought Norrell should understand what he meant by them.

‘I beg your pardon, Mr Strange?’

‘You know of the effect of these lands upon aging, do you not, Mr Norrell? That men and women despite spending hundreds of years in Faerie do not appear to have aged a day? Well, this explains it all! It means that time in Faerie does not kill but in fact only _delays_ development for exactly the amount of time one spends here. Don’t you see?’

Mr Norrell in fact did not and nor did he want to see. All he knew was that he had stumbled upon something deeply personal, perhaps even intimate, and that he wanted nothing more than to retire to his room as quickly as possible.

Strange had moved away from Norrell at this stage and was now by the basin, gazing fondly into its depths. He was murmuring to himself again, warmly praising his wife over and over which Norrell did not mind so much, but when he heard Strange saying without any trace of embarrassment whatsoever – ‘So dear Bell was indeed with child when she was taken from Ashfair, who would have thought it?’ – he decided to take his leave once and for all.

‘Well, Mr Strange, I thank you for a most unusual…evening. To tell the truth, I do not quite know what to make of it.’

‘Make of it, sir? I think it is as clear as day: my wife and I are the proud parents to a bonny little child!’ He peered again into the basin. ‘I think it is a boy but I am not sure…there is such a flurry of activity now that I can make neither head or tail of what is going on. Oh, I do wish this midwife would get out of the way. What a bother it is indeed that they cannot hear us, or I would tell this woman quite firmly to move so that I can see my wife.’

Mr Norrell supposed that congratulations were in order – he had heard that these were the sort of things that people usually offered on such occasions – but again, this was such an awkward set of circumstances that he did not quite know whether to shake his head at the ludicrousness of it all or to indulge his former pupil.

In all their time in the Darkness, apart from that instance when Mr Strange had managed to speak to his wife in Venice some months ago, he had never seen him as animated or elated as he did now. Tomorrow perhaps he would again see the Jonathan Strange he had come to know, the one wondering whether he would ever see his wife again, his yearning heightened by the arrival of his newborn son who neither of them knew he would ever see in the flesh.

But discomfited as he was, Mr Norrell found himself quite unable to disappoint his friend. He could not when Mr Strange had been through so much and he was certain that no one of his acquaintance deserved this glimmer of hope more than he did.

‘My congratulations to both you and your wife, Mr Strange,’ said Mr Norrell as he joined him at his side. As he did so, his eyes were arrested by the sight of the infant being wrapped up in an abundance of linens before being deposited into the arms of Mrs Strange.

‘She does look well, doesn’t she, sir?’ said Strange, noting the direction of Norrell’s gaze. ‘Tired, naturally, but Arabella always possessed a hardy constitution.’

Norrell felt the blush returning to his cheeks again. ‘You must pardon my intrusion. I did not mean to pry.’

‘You’re not intruding in the least, Mr Norrell. You are my friend, sir, and such occasions such as these call for the company of friends if not family.’ He paused at the word. ‘Family. Imagine that…never did I imagine I would have a family to call my own. Especially not at a time and in surroundings such as these,’ he added, gesturing around the room and thinking of another Jonathan Strange who, had things turned out differently, would now be at Ashfair with his wife and son.

‘I am only sorry that you cannot be with them at such a time.’

‘As am I,’ replied the younger man with great feeling and for a moment, it seemed as if sadness was on the verge of overwhelming him. However he roused himself and said, ‘But I am relieved to have seen them and know that they are well. I could not have asked for more.’ However his longing gaze at the basin said otherwise and Norrell felt obliged to say something.

‘We shall find a way out of this place, Mr Strange,’ he said with unusual firmness. ‘And one day you shall see them with your own eyes. That I promise you.’

So moved and surprised was he by Mr Norrell’s words that Jonathan Strange realised far too late that the man had quietly left the room before he could thank him. Well then, he would pass on his thanks at breakfast tomorrow, he decided, along with another bit of news.

‘You may think me mad, Bell,’ he said with a smile as he turned back to look at her, ‘but I do believe I’ve found the perfect man to be our little boy’s godfather!’


End file.
